


Conquest

by bumblebeesknees



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Inspired by That One Sneak Peek, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sparring, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, They're Both Competitive Assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15219029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeesknees/pseuds/bumblebeesknees
Summary: When it comes down to it, the only real mistake Magnus made was letting his guard down during the first round because he had thought Alecbelievedit when Magnus had said that he was a little out of practice.-This beautiful, infuriating asshole thinks he’s got the upper hand, marvels Magnus, irritation and inexplicable arousal warring inside him at the sight of the smirk that’s started to take form on Alec’s face.Magnus can’t let him get away with thinking that for too long.





	Conquest

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i have no comments. this is exactly what you think it is. /o\

Magnus barely steps into the room before Alec’s got him backed into the wall and leaning in for a deep and thorough kiss.

It’s unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. 

“Mm,” says Magnus, once Alec pulls away. He blinks open his eyes to be graced with the sight of Alec’s pillowed lips, still parted the slightest bit in unconscious invitation. “Is this how you greet everyone who comes to you for a little one-on-one training session?”

“No, this is just for you,” says Alec, his gaze caressing the whole of Magnus’ form with such naked appreciation that it has Magnus’ cheeks warm. It doesn’t matter that Magnus has lost count of how many times he’s seen it, how the same sentiment from the countless strangers he walks past on the street does nothing for him. That liquid heat in _Alexander’s_ gaze never fails to ignite something electric inside of Magnus, have his nerves thrumming in anticipation.

Wetting his suddenly dry lips, Magnus says in a low voice, “Maybe that’s why you get so few requests.”

“I think I’ll survive just having these asks from you.” With one last kiss, he starts back toward the center of the room. “Thought that I’d get that out of my system before we got started.”

Alec already has a bo staff in his left hand, something carelessly confident in his hold. Although his black training pants are loose, the hint of Alec’s ass moving as he walks is somehow even more tantalizing than it would be if the fabric had been hugging him more... intimately.

It’s a struggle to shake himself back into focus. Magnus grabs one of the remaining staffs mounted on the wall and responds to Alec with, “And how’d that work out for you?”

“No regrets,” says Alec, grinning. There’s something a little sweet about the way his gaze flickers away as he says, “But it kinda had the opposite effect.”

Alec must be trying to get Magnus to let his guard down by being terribly charming. From the way Magnus is smiling without any conscious will to do so, it’s definitely working. He would say that Alec really needs to stop saying these things so frankly and thoughtlessly – as though it’s not something regular people shy away from baring so honestly – except that that’s the last thing Magnus wants. Alec’s sincerity, the matter-of-fact way he expresses himself – Magnus wants all of it, wants to lose himself in it.

Instead Magnus airily says, “Well, remember to take it easy on me. It’s been a while since I’ve engaged in this kind of combat.”

A true enough comment. It has technically been twelve years since Magnus had to pick up a fallen branch and make it into a makeshift staff in battle. It doesn’t mean Magnus has stopped practicing, though. Magnus isn’t one of the grandmasters, but he _has_ been trained by some of them. And it’s always worth the price of a little fib to see that look of disbelieving awe and fury on Alec’s face when Magnus reveals his true capabilities in these things. 

Alec sounds doubtful as he says, “And you’re sure that you want to get up at six in the morning twice a week to train with me?”

“It’s true that I love my beauty sleep,” says Magnus, pretending to reconsider. “ _But_ it’s infinitely less restful when your side of the bed is empty. What _does_ help abate that part of me that longs for your presence–”

“Stop it,” says Alec, rolling his eyes. There’s a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth though, so Magnus takes that as a win. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Never,” promises Magnus. “I’m being absolutely serious when I say that watching you do push-ups and run through your morning drills fills up a terrible void inside of me.”

“Mm hmm. If you say so.”

It’s one of the reasons Magnus has renovated the loft in the last few weeks, to expand the space on the other side of the foyer into a training area. The early morning sunlight softens the edges of the blades and knives and various other deadly weapons forged with _adamas_ Alec has lovingly organized along the wall. There’s a seventy pound punching bag that’s hanging from the ceiling in one corner, and the sight of it reminds Magnus of the day Alec had shown up at the loft with it hoisted over his shoulder and almost gave Magnus a heart attack. 

Alec, who had been finishing up the last of his stretches, takes his position on one end of the mat. His starting stance is excellent, all tightly coiled muscle and ankles at the ready. Magnus has always been a fan of Alec’s form, of the lithe muscles of his bare arms and the tension that must be tightly drawn in his calves, but it’s – it’s going to be something else to be able to see them in action outside the silk sheets of their bed. 

“Best two out of three?”

“No magic, no runes,” agrees Magnus, nodding. “Three, two, one–”

Alec wastes absolutely no time in slamming either end of his staff against Magnus’ wrists in quick succession. The force of the impact has Magnus’ bones rattling, forcing his muscles to release their hold. 

It’s almost in a state of shock that Magnus watches his own staff fall on the ground with a clatter. 

Alec easily levers it up with his feet and hands it back to Magnus. “That’s one and o.” 

Outraged, Magnus says, somewhat accusingly, “You’re supposed to start off easy!” 

“Magnus, c’mon,” says Alec. “How stupid do you think I am? There’s no way you’re not some kind of secret expert at this. You’d never challenge me to something unless you knew you’d win – or at least rattle me enough to give me a run for my money.”

“That’s absolutely preposterous,” says Magnus, even though it’s a completely accurate read of his character. 

“Really?” Alec raises his eyebrows. “You’re really going to pull that after hustling me on our _first date_ and then again at that mundane archery competition where I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt?”

All valid points, but there’s no way Magnus is going to admit to it. 

If Magnus had an atom’s worth of common sense guiding him right now, he’d probably feign being wounded at this severe lack of trust and stick to his story, lull Alec into a false sense of security, and use the next round to turn things around. 

Unfortunately, common sense can’t win the fight against Magnus’ pride.

Narrowing his eyes, he says, “Is this really how you want to play it, Alec?”

“I want you to really give me all you’ve got,” counters Alec. “Think you can do that?”

This beautiful, infuriating asshole thinks he’s got the upper hand, marvels Magnus, irritation and inexplicable arousal warring inside him at the sight of the smirk that’s started to take form on Alec’s face. 

Magnus can’t let him get away with thinking that for too long. 

“Best three out of five, then, my darling,” he bites out, and when Alec slices his staff toward Magnus again just seconds later, Magnus blocks the blow and kicks Alec’s chest hard enough to send him flying back. 

Of course, the innate grace that comes as a benefit of his angel blood has him landing on the ground in a crouch. He doesn’t pause before he’s rushing toward Magnus again in an unrelenting flurry of slashes and jabs and parries. This kind of aggressive campaign isn’t what Magnus would have predicted as Alec’s _modus operandi_ but on the other hand, Alec’s got a lovely vicious streak and a keenly strategic mind. If his thought is that giving Magnus an inch will result in him taking a goddamn mile, then – he’s not wrong.

But Magnus isn’t about to get backed into a corner.

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” says Magnus. It’ll take nothing less than brute force to pause Alec in his tracks. The good news is that Magnus has more strength in his shoulders than Alec does, so Magnus digs in his heels and pushes back his horizontal staff against the downward weight of Alec’s, their intersecting weapons creating a perfect cross. 

“As long as I need to,” Alec grunts out in response, and then he succumbs to the once weakness he’s left himself open to as the aggressor – as soon as he abates the pressure on Magnus’ staff in unconscious preparation of his next move, Magnus spins on his heel and slams the long edge of the wooden pole into Alec’s side.

The single second it takes for Alec to process the pain is all Magnus needs to knock him down. 

“That’s one and one,” says Magnus. His voice comes out higher, more spindly than he’d have wanted it, a consequence of his racing heart and shallow breaths.

The stunned look on Alec’s face transforms into one of open, unhindered joy. He laughs a little, and something hot and yearning tightens in Magnus’ stomach at the sight. It almost makes Magnus want to glance away from him. From Alec, whose back is flat on the mat and with his hand resting on his sternum, genuinely delighted at having been knocked to the ground by Magnus.

It’s a feeling that has no place in the battlefield. Perhaps it’s a good thing, then, that they’re doing this in an enclosed pocket of the world that Magnus calls home. 

“ _Now_ we’re talking,” says Alec, getting gracefully to his feet and resuming his resting stance. The hint of that devastating smirk is back at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll take that as my cue to stop holding back.”

“Excuse me?” Magnus can’t help but sound affronted. “You were _not_ holding back during that.”

There’s something bright, almost feral in his hazel eyes, barely kept at bay under that sharp focus that has Magnus’ mouth growing dry at the sight. It burns away whatever tenderness Magnus had been feeling and leaves behind nothing but naked _want_ , the desire to conquer. To win. 

“Guess you’re about to find out,” says Alec, and has the audacity to gesture Magnus toward him. “Let’s see who takes round three.”

-

 

With a great deal of effort, Alec takes round three. With perhaps the same amount of effort, Magnus takes four. Each match takes longer and longer, and by the time they’re deep into their final set, Magnus’ isn’t thinking about anything beyond the next move. This isn’t what he’d been expecting in a “training session” with his boyfriend, but it was probably stupid of him to underestimate how much they both hate to lose. 

But finally, _finally_ , Magnus uses a burst of his remaining energy to use the same tactic Alec had used on him before – a speedy onslaught of strikes, the force of which has Alec taking one step back after another as he blocks them in succession. Magnus feels the elated rush of triumph when Alec’s back hits the wall, and it’s only Alec’s iron tight grip on his staff that keep’s Magnus’ from pressing down deeper into his throat to hold him in place.

Alec’s hair is damp. Sweat is trailing down his neck, and Magnus knows that he’s in no better shape. Their chests are heaving and they’re fighting for air in the same confined space. Alec’s mouth is parted from his breathing and the sight of it has Magnus thinking of all the riches he can ask of Alec as a result of his hard won victory. The heat emanating from him is at once dizzying and has Magnus’ hyperaware of the boundaries of Alec’s body, of exactly where Alec ends and the less important universe begins.

The fact that Alec’s eyes are still lit with that blazing fire as he stares unflinchingly at Magnus only makes Magnus want Alec on his back _more_. 

“Had enough, Alexander?” murmurs Magnus, eyes drawn to the fluttering of Alec’s pulse underneath the rune on his neck. 

“Hah.” Alec huffs out a laugh. “We haven’t even started,” he says, and then he drops his staff and lets his muscles go lax, and in the split second it takes Magnus to readjust his center of gravity is all that it takes Alec to push off the wall and tackle Magnus onto the ground.

Magnus feels the air physically get knocked out of his chest.

In the frantic grappling that ensues as they try to get the other pinned down, Magnus grunts out, “You cheat – I had that in the bag–”

“It’s not over til it’s over,” is Alec’s ornery, unapologetic response. “But you can – tap out anytime you want–”

“ _Tap ou–_ ” Magnus can’t even finish the thought, too absurd to even consider. He manages to get his ankles crossed behind Alec, but can’t quite gather the momentum in his hips needed to flip them over. But it’s only a matter of time before he breaks free because Alec hasn’t quite figured out how to completely immobilize his arms. 

And Alec knows it, too – that laser sharp focus is still there, and the look of utter determination that overtakes his face–

Alec abruptly stills above him. All at once, Magnus is very, very aware of how fucking hard he is right now and that Alec’s proximity has him growing harder by the second. How the next natural thought is noticing how red Alec’s mouth is, how flushed his cheeks and shoulders and chest are. How there’s less green in Alec’s eyes now than Magnus remembers, edged away by the expanding black of his pupils.

How those edged-out irises are following the line of Magnus’ throat as he swallows. 

In their stillness, all sound has vanished except for the harsh pants of their breathing. Alec’s face is so close that Magnus can see the small freckle Alec has in his left eyebrow, the cracks on his lips. 

And Magnus can’t tell if it’s him who moves up or if it’s Alec that leans down but between one blink and the next he’s kissing Alec with as much fervent determination he has been using to win the latest round of their training match – except that neither one of them is trying to get the upper hand. Magnus opens up his mouth, uses one of his suddenly free hands to card through Alec’s hair and greedily swallows the long, reverberating moan that’s drawn out from deep within Alec’s chest. Alec’s fingers, just the sight of which drive Magnus up the wall at least three times a day, slides underneath the thin fabric of Magnus’ shirt. His palms burn as he maps them across every available inch of Magnus’ skin, greedy for contact. Magnus’ blood had already been running hot but now he’s on fire, the heat of a thousand blinding suns crawling in his veins.

Magnus groans in protest when Alec pulls back. It’s just for a moment and an action he so often does in the middle of kisses which stir the core inside of Magnus. He does it for seemingly no other reason except to look at Magnus’ face. 

“This doesn’t mean we’re done with our match,” says Magnus in between Alec’s renewed kisses, between Alec tugging impatiently at Magnus’ shirt and throwing it across the room when it finally comes off before doing the same with his own. He switches his attention from Magnus’ mouth to his neck and collarbones, hand sliding into the front of Magnus’ pants to palm at his dick. 

“Oh, I think we’re done.” Magnus’ fingers tighten in Alec’s hair as Alec moves down Magnus’ bare chest, the press of his mouth as hot as an iron brand on Magnus’ skin. When he gets to Magnus’ navel, Alec tugs the waist of Magnus’ pants down. “And we both know who won.”

_“Excuse–”_

“We’ve all got our talents, Magnus,” is Alec’s rough response, and anything Magnus could’ve said in response is drowned out by Alec taking Magnus fervently into his mouth. 

Alec _is_ talented. He’s an eager lover, a considerate partner, a fair leader. An excellent fighter. Alec doesn’t fight in a style different from other shadowhunters and yet the reaction ignited within Magnus from seeing _Alexander_ move with the grace of an angel warrior is – the effect it has on Magnus can’t be reined in. Magnus doesn’t want to rein it in. He’s physically aching to have Alec and what he _wants_ is to give in to that desire. 

There’s electricity buzzing underneath his skin as he hears the sloppy sounds of Alec working his dick and Magnus is too worked up, has too much adrenaline furiously pumping his heart to lie down and just take it. Magnus has wanted this from the second Alec’s staff had slammed against each of Magnus’ wrists in quick succession and taken that first round with no effort. Alec’s not one to run his mouth unnecessarily, but at the end of their second match – when Alec had been smirking despite having been beaten – Magnus vividly remembers thinking, _someone needs to teach him a lesson in arrogance._

The wet heat of Alec’s mouth leaves Magnus’ cock with an indecent pop. Magnus groans, but before he can voice his complaints, Alec says in a hoarse voice, “Isn’t this my prize for winning?” and crawls up to draw Magnus into a deep, filthy kiss.

Alec is braced with one arm resting by Magnus head and he stretches the other down so he can tug down his pants just enough to free his own aching cock and grind against Magnus’. But Magnus’ eyes have snapped open at Alec’s remark. 

_Isn’t this my prize for winning?_ Magnus had never thought he would be in a situation where getting Alec’s mouth and hands around his cock wouldn’t be victory in one form or another, but Alexander does have a way of surprising him in the most unexpected manner. 

Except that the way Alec usually surprises him results in Magnus being bewildered because of the newly discovered depths of Alec’s seemingly endless well of unpracticed, unpolished sweetness and devotion. Never before has Magnus been disbelievingly _enraged_ because of Alec’s sheer boldness. The audacity it takes to gloat like that while jacking Magnus off with one hand. 

And God help Magnus if it doesn’t make him want to have Alec even more.

“Is this how we’re deciding on the victor, then?” murmurs Magnus into Alec’s mouth. If so, then there’s really only one thing for Magnus to do now: he grasps onto Alec’s ass and sends a pulse of magic to accelerate the urgency building inside of Alec. 

Alec’s gasp is almost soundless when he’s hit with it. Magnus doesn’t look away from Alec’s face, so he sees it all. Sees Alec’s neck arching back, his mouth part and eyes go hazy with shock and arousal. Magnus follows up that wave with another, and another, and doesn’t stop until he sees the signature blue of his power glow from behind Alec’s eyes as they roll back and his knees and elbows give out. 

“What?” he rasps, rolling off of Magnus and collapsing on his back. He’s breathing so harshly that he can barely speak. Magnus crawls over him instead, places a hand on either of Alec’s hips and doesn’t pause in sending that current of heated, liquid pleasure into Alec. “Magnus – what–”

“We all have our talents,” he says, whispering Alec’s own words back to him. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Alec’s eyes squeeze shut, knees drawing up and hips rising in search of friction. It’s a testament to how strung out Alec is that he doesn’t even quip anything back. “God, Magnus, don’t – don’t stop–”

He cuts himself off, giving into a long, decadent moan. He’s not even looking at Magnus but the sound goes straight to Magnus’ dick. This is Alec when he’s not in control. When the onslaught of Magnus’ magic stimulating every pleasure center of his body leaves room for nothing except instinctive, physical reaction. He hips strain under Magnus’ hands and when he reaches for his own cock to bring himself over the edge – he lets out the most beautiful, filthy series of curses when Magnus knocks his hand out of the way.

“Magnus,” says Alec, “what are you _doing_ –”

“Say I won,” coaxes Magnus, pressing a wet, lingering kiss on Alec’s hipbone. “And that you pulled a dirty trick.”

“Hell no,” says Alec, even as he groans, his thighs shaking as Magnus strokes his way down the back of them and pauses at the soft bend behind Alec’s knees. He doesn’t stop sending out his steady pulse of magic. “You didn’t – you didn’t win–”

Sweat’s dripping down Alec’s temples and the head of his cock’s wet, the length of it red, precome trailing down. He’s so close, and Magnus leans down and drags his tongue languorously from the root to the tip to get Alec just that much closer. 

“I can do this all day, Alexander.”

“I had you on your _back_ –”

“I’ve got you on your back now,” croons Magnus, and Alec – gorgeous, stubborn, _maddening_ Alexander has the nerve to breathlessly go, “And this is all you’re gonna do with me?” before curling a hand behind Magnus’ neck and pulling him down for a searing kiss. 

Even the most passionate, ravenous of kisses with Alec involve the soft press of his lips and it never fails to reel all of Magnus in, never fails to have him touch Alec’s face, have him grip Alec’s hair – and in that endless second that Magnus’ magic takes pause, Alec gasps against Magnus’ mouth and comes between their stomachs. 

The kiss only breaks when Alec’s arms collapse to the side, every muscle in his body going lax. The room seems to still around them, and the only thing in Magnus’ ears is the sound of his own heart drumming and the deep, steadying breaths Alec is taking. It takes Magnus a second, but–

“You really are a world-class cheat,” he says, incredulous. Alec wrangled that spectacular orgasm for himself, a reward Magnus would’ve given him if only he’d acknowledge the truth. Magnus is almost impressed. 

Alec blinks up at him, looking particularly lush. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he says, his words at odds with how rough and satiated his voice is. “You were using _sex magic_ on me. You – I can’t believe you cared more about extorting me into saying you won that match than letting me get you off.”

“You’re still not admitting it?” Magnus can’t believe this.

“You didn’t win! There’s nothing to admit, Magnus.” Still, he quickly moves to press a finger against Magnus’ lips when Magnus opens his mouth to argue. “For the love of – just – let’s get this sorted out and we’ll see who’s right in the next round.”

He decisively pulls Magnus down for another kiss, something sweet this time. Of course, his hands then roam down to between Magnus’ legs, where Magnus is still hard and aching and – God, Magnus thinks. He may not be a trustworthy opponent in a fight, but Alec truly is the most exceptional man.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! please feel free to leave a kudo/comment if you enjoyed :D


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